Rated M for language, mentions/talk of suicide/self-harm, talk of mental health/disorders, underage drinking, possible violence, possible sexual situations. If any of these themes are triggering to you, do not proceed.
This is my first fanfiction! Feedback would be much appreciated.
I intend to make this a slow-burn love story. Like, our love interest doesn't even make an appearance in this chapter. I'm not totally sure how it's all going to play out, or how I'm going to be portraying all of our characters, but I'm excited to see how it turns out :D.
September 10th, 2006-
Dark gray clouds reach as far as the eye can see. Not a sliver of sunlight makes it through the thick curtain. Puddles of water are scattered on the street, the remnants of last night's thunderstorm. I look out the front window numbly. Another day of bad weather, but what else is to be expected of the Olympic Peninsula? Looking down at my bowl, I stare blankly at my soggy cereal. My stomach churns at the sight of it. Rubbing a hand down my face, I stand up, disposing of the glop and walking to the front door, grabbing my bag on the way.
The second I walk out of the house, wind whips me in the face. With a grimace, I start on my way down the driveway and onwards down the street, hands shoved into the pockets of my baggy sweatshirt. Cold air nips at my cheeks, bringing a rosy pigment to them. A five minute walk later, and I am standing in front of the small tribal school of La Push. Rushing up the steps, I push the door open, warm air engulfing me. With a quick look around, I find the student help office easily enough, and I go in to see the receptionist, who is tapping away at her computer.
Looking up from the screen, the dark haired woman smiles warmly at me. "Hello sweetheart, how can I help you?" Like it isn't obvious enough.
"Um, hi… my name is Daniella Freed, and I'm supposed to get my schedule." As I say this, the woman's eyes seem to light up with recognition.
"Of course! Let me get that for you dear," she rolls her chair over to the filing cabinet behind her, while I pull at the sleeves of my sweatshirt and look at the name label at the front of the desk. Ms. Rossi. Turning back to me, she hands me a small stack of papers. "There is your schedule, an attendance checklist, just to make sure you make it to every class," she adds with a wink, "and a map of the school. It's not too hard to navigate, but it's just there if you need it." I nod slowly, looking down at my schedule. All the basic classes, none of it AP or extra difficult.
Offering Ms. Rossi a small smile, I back up, ready to start leaving, when her voice stops me. "You and your mother moved in with Eugene, correct?" I nod again, already knowing what's coming. "He's a good man, that house that he was given by his mother is absolutely gorgeous, isn't it? You're so lucky that your mother snagged a man like that," she enthuses, her voice taking on a dreamy lilt to it.
"Yes, I quite like him." I say politely. Short answers, don't give anything to the conversation. That's my rules on navigating a conversation with a gossip-starved small towny. When she looks like she's going to continue on, I flick my eyes up to the clock on the wall, cutting her off before she starts, "I really need to get to class now, thank you for your help."
I walk out of her office before she gets another word in, readjusting my bag on my shoulder, before looking out for my class, ignoring all of the looks I get from the other students. What is up with people and not being able to mind their own business?
First period was easy enough to find. It was just a few doors down from the student services desk. The room was small, probably big enough to hold fifteen or so students, and from the looks of it, mostly everyone is there. They immediately look up as I walk towards the teachers desk, just a blur in my peripheral. Sheet signed, introduction to the class made, I go towards the back of the room, to the partially empty row seats, slumping into a vacant plastic chair. As class begins, a wadded up ball of paper lands on my desk. Eyeing it blankly, I turn my gaze up at the sender. He's a typical Quileute male; thick ebony hair, dark brown eyes, naturally russet skin. He looks lanky, with skinny legs stretching out under his desk. With his hands, he motions to the paper, a large smile on his face.
Rolling my eyes lazily, I pick up the paper and unscrunch it. In horrible penmanship, reads out, 'Hey gorgeous ;)'. I give a little huff of amusement. Folding it in half, I tap the girl in front of me on the shoulder, pointing at the boy to my left when she turns around. His eyes have gone wide, and he frantically shakes his head when she looks at him in confusion. A light smile pulls at my lips and I snicker quietly as I lay my head down on my folded arms. Class is over quicker than expected. I grab my books and head down the aisle of desks, only to be stopped by the Flirting Master.
"Hey there honey," he smiles, "that was one cruel joke, I'm going to have to reject that poor girl now."
"Oh how horrible," I draw out. She didn't look all that interested from where I was sitting. Walking around him and out the door, he quickly falls into step with my casual pace.
I look up at him questioningly. "I'm Cody Andrews, your future boyfriend," he responds to the look lightly. That gets a quiet laugh out of me. "Aha! So she can laugh!" Cody announced dramatically. I'll ignore that comment.
"Future boyfriend huh? I could've sworn I have better taste. Must really lower my standards in the coming months." I say cooly. A small smirk grows on my face when a barking laugh comes from him.
"Well it looks like little Daniella and I are so going to be good friends," Cody says as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
Narrowing my eyes at his hand, I pull it back off of me. "It's Danny, not 'Daniella'," I mumble, "and I'm not little…" This just gets him to ruffle the hair on my head.
"Sure you're not, Danny. Hey, where are we going anyway?"
"Last I checked, my math class."
"Ah shit, okay, well shorty, I guess this is where we say goodbye. I've got free period." Ruffling my hair again, he separates from me, stopping by a group of boys before shouting to me, "Sit with me at lunch, hot stuff!" Shaking my head slightly, the corners of my lips twitch up. I don't necessarily want to make any friends... but if he wants to be lunch buddies I guess I won't argue against that.
The next two lessons pass by just as quickly, all just a blur of different syllabi. No complaints here. My fourth period, Bio, has Cody in it, where he decides to entertain me with lame pickup lines, only to be perfectly countered with my sarcasm. Lunch is up next, and as told, I sat with him along with a few of his friends after grabbing a sandwich from the lunch bar. I was warmly welcomed by a bunch of dirty jokes and sexual innuendos from the group of boys.
While they carried on a conversation together, Cody was pointing out people in the cafeteria with very detailed descriptions of their entire life stories, despite my complaints of not giving a crap. Nonetheless, I listened unenthusiastically. Mean girls, emo kids, future sex offenders. Pretty typical high school things. But when he pointed out a table full of overly muscled, rambunctious men shoveling their faces full of the cafeteria slop; that was new. The Uley Cult, as he so adequately put it. I believe I've seen a few in my classes, typically talking to whatever giant is accompanying them or looking out a window.
After getting a description of each one, and feeling disappointed by my lack of dramatic responses, he went into asking about me. Some were fine, easy even. "Where are you from?", "How do you like La Push?", "What's your cup size?", "Have any pets?". Answered shortly with, "Chicago,", "It's not bad,", "piss off,", "A cat named Magnolia."
But then the dreaded question came up. "Why did you move here?"
I felt my chest tighten a bit of dread build in my stomach, heavy as rocks. Playing it off, with a dismissive wave of the hand, I reply, "Mom just thought it would be nice to get a change of scenery." As hospitable he's been, that is the one thing I have vowed to not let slip from my lips. He doesn't seem to mind my vague answers much, but I'm sure he's curious. I am, after all, the new and mysterious white girl on the rez.
The rest of the day was a blur. Boring. Repetitive. When the last bell rang, I walked out of the building just to find my apparent new best friend waving me over to his car. I allow him to drive me home, while he blasts some Lincoln Park through the crappy speakers of his silver Sedan. At least he has good taste in music if nothing else.
Up the slightly winding driveway, and to my two-story cottage, Cody gets out of the car with me. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he just smiles and follows me to the front door, talking about some job at a bakery nearby that he's going to be interviewing for. While we walk up the steps, I feel my legs give in. Of all times…
Cody's reflexes must be fast because I feel his arms wrapping around me before I can plummet to the concrete. "You okay there, Danny?" he asks once I'm stable on my own two feet again.
Nodding swiftly, I step up onto the porch, unlocking the door. "Yea, yea… I just tripped a little."
"Are you sure? 'Cuz to me, that looked like you've just fallen for me." Ah, his humor I've already gotten so used to is back at full force. Ignoring him and walking through the foyer, I notice that he's taking in the house and all of its glory. Cream walls, plush furniture, old family photos. I leave him to explore as I enter the kitchen for a snack.
From the family room, I hear him shout to me. "How long have you lived here?" I roll my eyes. I would've expected him to know from all of our gossiping neighbors. One person sees a moving truck and suddenly the whole town hears about every bit of false information people can come up with. It's ridiculous.
"I… believe a month ago," my voice takes on more of a questioning sound. In all honesty, it could have been a month or it could have been a week. The little animals out in the wilderness would know better than me.
"You don't seem so sure, shorty," Cody says playfully as he walks through the kitchen doorway, "need a memory check? I can play doctor if you're my patient." He adds with a wink. That gets an amused smirk from me.
"No thanks, doctor. I'd prefer someone who doesn't specialize in STDs." I throw in my own wink at his surprised face. While he cracks up into a fit of laughter, I lean against the counter, the small, empty smile on my face the same as the one I've had all day.
High pitched creaking echoes through the room, a strip of yellow light emerging through the crack. I shift my head, headphones still in place, to see my mother standing in my doorway.
"Sweetheart? Are you asleep?" her soft-spoken voice speaks into the darkness, barely audible through my music. Sitting up, I shift the headphones onto my neck.
"No, I'm up," I murmur.
With a soft hum of acknowledgment, mom flips the lightswitch by the door and walks into the room, wooden floorboards creaking under her soft footsteps. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she smooths some of the messed up hair on my head back.
"How are you doing today?" she says quietly, her eyes taking over my appearance, making me self consciously tug at the sleeves of my hoodie.
"Fine," I answer, my voice lacking in the emotion department. Mom cups my face with her hand, looking me in the eyes. She was checking for a lie that I wasn't telling. Today really was fine. Nothing bad happened. Nothing particularly good happened either. So, therefore, it was fine.
Sighing quietly, mom gives me a light kiss on the forehead, whispering about dinner being in half an hour, and leaving my room. After sitting in the door of my room for a little while longer, I pull my headphones from around my neck before getting up and walking into the hallway bathroom. I start the shower and undress. In the mirror, I poke at the large slightly pink scar spanning diagonally across my stomach. It doesn't hurt anymore. Not like it did a few weeks ago. Or any amount of time between then and when I got it. Five months. Wow. It feels like so long ago, but also like it just happened the other day.
Trailing my fingers up, up, up along my body, tracing every little mark, I make my way back down my arms, feeling the string of my newer wounds. All of these physical marks and yet it's not even breaking the surface of all of my problems.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I turn back towards the shower, but once I take a step to the tub, my knees once again buckle, forcing me to catch myself on the bathroom counter. Once I've pulled myself upright again, I test out my legs again. A little jerky, a little stiff, but that's perfectly fine I suppose.
The shower I can hardly feel. Even the scorching hot water doesn't make it through my thoughts. A mixture of the regular mantras going through my head and all of the fantasies of what could've been. What should've been...